Me, Myself and That Guy in the Mirror
by unlove
Summary: Mark Fitzgerald's life had never been perfect, not as far back as he could remember. ONE-SHOT


**I don't own Degrassi, Fitz or anything else Canadian. I think this is a damn shame.**

**On that note, I'd like to point out that more than a few fics attempt to decipher the mystery that is Fitz, but each one is different. So this is my take. I hope you enjoy it.**

Mark Fitzgerald's life had never been perfect, not as far back as he could remember. His dad was nothing but a signature on Fitz's birth certificate. His mom was a hard-working, hard-living cocktail waitress who wasn't getting any younger or prettier. It had been just the two of them his whole life, with the addition of an assortment of men his mother brought home.

Some of the men had been pretty good. Some of them had been pretty bad. For the most part, Fitz remembered them as a blur of faces, a few grunted words, uniform shirts with names embroidered on the left front pocket. They alternately showered him with attention or ignored him, depending on the length of time they had been around. Some had lasted only a few nights, but others had held out for months. Fitz never cared when they left. The endless parade of almost stepdads had little effect on his daily life.

The first time that his mom brought Phil home, Fitz knew that he was different. That was the day that Fitz's life began its descent into the pits of Hell. He had been twelve, almost thirteen, and as wild as the summer days were long. He didn't want or need a father figure, especially one like that loser.

Phil was on disability, claiming that he had an old back injury from his years of hard work laying concrete. Phil was living in his car, claiming that his ex-wife had taken every penny he had and then some. Phil was always drinking, claiming that he wasn't an alcoholic. Phil claimed a lot of things, but Fitz knew from the first that it was all bullshit.

His mom didn't know though. "He really cares about us," she told Fitz, sitting on his twin bed in his closet-sized bedroom. She had her knees drawn up to her chest like a little kid. "He's going to make life better for us. I really love him, Marky." He wanted to smack her for calling him that. The desire intensified when she pleaded with him, "Please give Phil a chance."

Fitz didn't meet Phil's son Steve until the day of the wedding, exactly two months from the day his mom met the loser. The wedding wasn't anything to brag about: Mom, Phil, Steve and himself gathered around a court justice as they traded cheap imitation gold rings. Still, the newlyweds seemed happy enough. Over the celebration dinner at McDonald's, Fitz was grudgingly considering giving Phil a chance.

Right up until Phil announced that Steve was moving in and Fitz would have to share his room. Fitz glared at Steve across the table. The older boy glared back.

Steve was a little older than Fitz and a lot meaner. Fitz often thought that Steve would sell his own mother for a quick fix. He would disappear for days at a time, return higher than a kite and use Fitz as a punching bag. He would smoke a crack rock and spend the day hiding under his bed, terrified that the cops were going to find him. Then he would come down from his high and throw up all over the floor. Fitz would come home to find the entire bedroom covered with Technicolor vomit, only to have Steve pop up behind him and shove his face in it. Steve was a jackass. Fitz often thought that prison time would be worth it if he could rid the world of Steve.

Time passed. Fitz's mom got older and more tired. Phil got fatter and dumber. Steve got skinnier and meaner. Fitz got a whole lot of nothing.

These days, Fitz doesn't know who the fuck he is. He looks in the mirror and wonders who that guy looking back at him is. His life is so dark that he can't see the light at the end of the tunnel, and he's quit looking for it. He's given up on every dream he's ever had. His options are simple and limited: prison, rehab or the Hell he calls home.

And it stays like that, right up until the day he sees Clare for the first time. Right up until that moment when he throws down his cigarette and glances up to see the most beautiful girl smiling at him like she's in love. Right up until he starts toward her, only to realize that she's not looking at him, she's staring at someone over his shoulder. And at that moment, as he realizes that she is smiling at the cocky, smart-mouthed, hearse-driving loser he fought yesterday, he decides that changing his life would be worth it for a girl like that.

She is the one bright spot in his life. And she doesn't even know it.


End file.
